


Run Boy Run

by meaninglessblah



Series: Prompts & Fills [12]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bargaining, Childhood, Gangs, Gangsters, Gen, Jason Todd is Not Robin, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: “No one’s going to hurt you,” the man says, expression gentle as he crouches at Jason’s side.Jason sincerely doubts that. Especially given his hands are currently zip tied to a drainpipe and whatever disagreements he might have are muffled by the cloth threaded through his teeth.
Series: Prompts & Fills [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987264
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Run Boy Run

**Author's Note:**

> This was an old prompt fill, moved over from Tumblr. The prompt was "No one's going to hurt you".

“No one’s going to hurt you,” the man says, expression gentle as he crouches at Jason’s side. 

Jason sincerely doubts that. Especially given his hands are currently zip tied to a drainpipe and whatever disagreements he might have are muffled by the cloth threaded through his teeth. He settles for glaring, pulling his threadbare sneakers in closer to his body where he sits, curled against the filthy wall. 

The man sighs, massaging his wrists as he glances back over his shoulder at the two goons who watch on distrustfully. Jason had gotten in a good kick to the uglier one’s shins before they’d managed to pin him down and secure him. That one gives him a sneer before shifting his gaze away. 

“We don’t want you to come to any harm,” the man repeats, holding Jason’s glower with what he supposes counts as sincerity. He’s the most eloquent of Roman’s men, by a large fucking margin, but that doesn’t make him any more trustworthy. Jason’s not buying the good-cop-bad-cop routine. 

Jason shifts his aching shoulders and glares at the raw, abraded skin around his bound wrists. 

“But,” the man continues, sighing heavily, “we need to know where you put that package, kid. It’s important that you tell us.” 

Jason understands that loud and clear. If he could spit at the man’s feet right now, he probably would. It’d get him a boot to the recently healed rib, but he could probably earn it. 

It’s not like his prospects are going to improve any if he tells them the truth. 

“Can you do that, kid?” 

Jason swallows around the spit-soaked cloth, shoulders creeping towards his ears as he avoids the man’s gaze. His arms ache, from more than just circulation, his heart bleating a rapid tempo in his narrow chest. 

“I want to let you go,” the man implores, offering Jason a soft smile. It slides from his face like water. “But the boss… Well, let’s just say he and I see on some things a bit differently.” 

Oh, Jason’s _very_ keenly aware of exactly how differently his situation would be if Roman had been the one to get his hands on him. The fact that he’s being hounded by an intermediary right now instead of the crime lord is probably the only stroke of luck Jason’s had all evening. 

“So let’s get this sorted out, shall we? You help me get that package back, and I’ll help you find your way home.” 

Jason shifts where he’s seated, the bone of his ankle knocking the concrete and sending a spiral of pins up his shin. He tries to keep his expression heated, that perfect mask of fury. Tries not to let the man see exactly how anxious Jason really is, with two empty pockets and no package to his name. 

It’s not like he _lost_ the package. He just… misplaced it. Somewhere between the Bowery and his run up the Water District, while he was dodging cops and ducking goons. He’d sort of had other things on his mind. 

Jason thinks he might know where he left it. He’d crawled through a fence at one point, peeling back the mesh wire as far as it would go to wriggle through the gap. It hadn’t quite been enough, his thin sneakers scrabbling on the pavement, shredding through the brown roots of persistent weeds. 

Maybe he’d dropped it. Maybe it had slipped out of his pocket. It wouldn’t be the first time Jason had lost something as a consequence of threadbare clothing. It’s just, he usually doesn’t have a several hundred thousand dollar ring in his pocket to lose. 

Not for the first time, Jason regrets taking this job. 

He’d needed the money - of course he’d needed the money - and he was a good courier. The Black Masks like to use kids from the Alley to run their product around. Plausible deniability and minor offences and whatnot. Jason’s been running for the Masks since he was eight. 

It was usually drugs. Sometimes it was just errands, food or cigarettes brought to mobsters on stakeouts. They’d give him the cash and a time limit, and Jason would show up on time, every time. 

He was good at couriering. That’s probably why the intermediary had pulled him aside, promised him an extra cut for a better job, something important. Something that would get him the right sort of attention from the right sort of people. 

Jason didn’t really want the attention. He didn’t want to be a courier forever, but it sure beat the grunt work he’d watched his father do for years. Less chance of getting shot as a courier. The worst Jason had to worry about was maybe a sprained ankle and a night in lock up until someone came to collect him with a slap on the wrist. 

He was never stupid enough to get caught with product on him. He knows all the best hiding spots in the Alley. Knows all the spots no one else knows about, the less popular cracks and crevices spotted throughout the landscape. 

The intermediary probably figured he’d stashed the package when the cops had shown up. They’d known, somehow, that an exchange was happening. Even if they’d been a few minutes behind the mark. It’d been enough to throw the deal into chaos, had given the intermediary enough time to slip the little box into Jason’s palm and shove him towards the back exit. 

He was a fast runner, good at sprinting, so he’d dodged the sirens and the lights and cut through some of the backstreets to avoid the first wave of cops. Hadn’t given much thought to whether the intermediary would be there to retrieve the package at the other end. 

Evidently, he was a decent runner too, because here he was, grilling Jason for the location of a package he didn’t have and didn’t know where to find. 

He has an idea of where it may be. Not that he’s going to mention that to the intermediary. He doubts it’s going to go down well if they take him to the location and walk away empty-handed. Admitting he doesn’t quite know where it may be is just as bad as admitting he doesn’t know where the package is period. 

**Author's Note:**

> [ ](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah)


End file.
